Full transparency, I was on a bit of a rant.
In my defense, I process best with words. And I find that the largest portion of my teacher frustrations comes from wanting to best serve a student and not being able to crack the code of interpreting what they need. That was the case on this particular day, and I was thinking out loud about some challenges I was observing in the hopes that it would help me unlock some new insight. Well, it did. Just not the one I was expecting.
"Oh my God," I said suddenly, the realization crashing on me all at once. "Listen to me. I'm the one with the low frustration threshold."
In my defense, I process best with words. And I find that the largest portion of my teacher frustrations comes from wanting to best serve a student and not being able to crack the code of interpreting what they need. That was the case on this particular day, and I was thinking out loud about some challenges I was observing in the hopes that it would help me unlock some new insight. Well, it did. Just not the one I was expecting.
"Oh my God," I said suddenly, the realization crashing on me all at once. "Listen to me. I'm the one with the low frustration threshold."
For the past year and a half, I've heard the word "normal" at least a million times. The loss of normal. The new normal. Returning to normal. I don't even know what normal is. And if you'd asked me what I thought it was in 2019, I'm not sure what I would have said. I don't really care about normal anymore. I'm not sure how it serves me. How it serves us.
What I do care about is meeting this moment exactly as it is. I care about meeting my students exactly where they are. I am realizing that their needs at this moment are the not the needs of children their age just eighteen months ago. I am realizing that I need not only to reexamine curriculum, as I do every year. I need to reexamine what it means to be a two, three, four year old in the context of our current shared reality.
It's a whole new world.
What I do care about is meeting this moment exactly as it is. I care about meeting my students exactly where they are. I am realizing that their needs at this moment are the not the needs of children their age just eighteen months ago. I am realizing that I need not only to reexamine curriculum, as I do every year. I need to reexamine what it means to be a two, three, four year old in the context of our current shared reality.
It's a whole new world.
And not just for them, the children. For us. For the teachers, parents, caregivers who share our lives with them. We're not who we were, who we would have been if our lives had remained "normal." Chugging my coffee, venting with my co-worker, I saw the truth. For every challenge my students are facing, I am, too.
I, too, am having trouble focusing.
I, too, am having a hard time regulating and being patient.
I, too, am having emotional outbursts, an increased need for comfort, an overall sense of stress and overwhelm.
Me, too.
I, too, am having trouble focusing.
I, too, am having a hard time regulating and being patient.
I, too, am having emotional outbursts, an increased need for comfort, an overall sense of stress and overwhelm.
Me, too.
So how do we navigate this? Children, adults, communities still reeling, still having so many unmet needs of our own while trying to meet the needs of others. I don't know.
But as I wore my Mr. Rogers necklace earlier this week, I just kept thinking: Could it be love? Could it be that simple and that revolutionary? Could I dare to release every preconceived notion I've had about what a child should be - what I should be - and love the person in front of me the very best I can?
Maybe if I can do that for others, I can do it for myself. And maybe we can all start healing.
But as I wore my Mr. Rogers necklace earlier this week, I just kept thinking: Could it be love? Could it be that simple and that revolutionary? Could I dare to release every preconceived notion I've had about what a child should be - what I should be - and love the person in front of me the very best I can?
Maybe if I can do that for others, I can do it for myself. And maybe we can all start healing.
